The Master's Tales
by EagleStrike1
Summary: A series of one-shots about the various missions performed by the mighty Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. His evolution from a cocky amateur to a serious Master Assassin.


Hi everyone! I recently finished "Ezio Auditore: Life of an assassin". So now I am going to focus entirely on this new story featuring my favorite assassin, the mighty Altair! So please leave reviews. Cheers!

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"Assassin! Assassin on the rooftops! Shoot him down- archers!"

The guard's cry went up as Altair Ibn La Ahad ran across the roof, the loose tiles slipping and sliding under his boots. Doors flew open at the castle's ramparts and archers spilled out by the dozens. Their longbows were already nocked and taking careful aim, they fired at once. Altair ducked behind a chimney as the arrows skittered harmlessly around him. He had been careless, he thought to himself as he carefully assessed what had gone wrong.

He had infiltrated the castle with relative ease. He was donning his white robes. On top of it, a black cloak. There was no moon tonight and Altair had used the darkness to approach a part of the wall that was made of jagged rocks. Scaling the wall was no problem. After all, he was Altair. Making his way to the kitchens, he had "borrowed" a set of armor from a sleeping guard. He needn't have worried about making a noise. The guard's snores were loud enough to mask the sounds of a battle, if it had ensued. He couldn't have been too sharp either. Altair managed to liberate the guard's armor while he was sleeping.

With his new armor hiding his face and robes, Altair moved swiftly towards the sleeping quarters reserved for diplomats and minor royalty. There were two soldiers guarding the door. Altair had made the mistake of engaging these guards directly. He walked towards them in a calm demeanor. The guards looked at him suspiciously. Clearly a kitchen guard drew notice.

In a swift motion, he drew his sword out and slashed one of the men's throat. Wasting no time he attempted to jab the other man's stomach and was met by resistance. The other man was no slacker and blocked his attack with his sword half-drawn. He swung the sword at Altair, who had to duck to avoid the man's counterattack. The guard brought the sword down on the crouching Altair. Altair rolled over to the left and the sword hit the floor. In the silence of the night, the ring of steel impacting the ground made a loud sound. It was surely heard by others as shouts rang along the ramparts. Quickly, Altair slashed at the guard's left leg. With a cry of pain, he dropped to his knees. Using the opportunity, Altair put his sword through the guard's neck. Soldiers were now running towards the quarters, he had been spotted!

With the speed and grace of a jaguar, Altair ran inside the doors. Quickly, he bolted the heavy doors. He knew where the Templar diplomats were accommodated. He ran two flights of stairs and kicked the heavy door on the right of the staircase. It was held closed by a small chain that broke immediately. There were 3 diplomats seated on the cushioned floor, drinking wine and unaware of the commotion below them. And as Altair surveyed the room, he found out why. A slim girl was dancing in the middle of the room, absolutely naked. The diplomats turned around to look at the door with annoyance, their "entertainment" interrupted. They saw the bloody sword on Altair's hand and got up instantly, one of them stumbling. The naked girl stopped, confused.

The Templars must have figured out that the man in front of them was no soldier, but an Assassin. They made to reach for their swords, which was slung inconveniently near their beds, in the far corner of the room. Altair strode forward. He reached for a knife tucked in the belt that held his armor. With deadly accuracy, he threw the knife at a diplomat who was nearing his bed. The knife struck him in the back and he dropped to the floor, dead. The naked dancer now screamed and ran for her clothes, discarded on the bedside. Altair ignored her and closed the gap between him and the drunk Templar. He put his sword through his chest. He pulled it out slowly. He looked in the eyes of the dying Templar. A familiar and exhilarating sense of power coursed through Altair's veins. He let go of the body and it dropped to the floor.

Meanwhile, the third diplomat had managed to find his sword. The dancer ran for the door, screaming hysterically. Altair looked at the Templar. His arms were shaking badly as he raised his sword, held at a wrong angle. Altair removed his helmet and pulled the hood over his head in a swift motion. He then undid the straps that held the armor and removed the black cloak as well. The nervous Templar's hand shook even more badly, if that was possible. He looked positively panicked.

Altair could hear the pounding of the heavy doors below. It would be only a few seconds before the guards would break through. Or the dancer might open the door for them. This had to be done now.

Altair sheathed his sword and looked calmly at the Templar. The Templar looked back at him in confusion, believing it to be a trick.

Altair recited Al Mualim's message in his mind once again and then repeated it out loud in slow, clear words.

"Tell Robert to stop his march into Jerusalem, or the next time the only message he will get will be a dagger on his back and a feather stained with his blood."

The Templar nodded dumbly, too stupefied to believe that he was being spared.

Altair's work was done, but he had raised an alarm. _No, not an alarm. Just a challenge._ He corrected himself mentally. He ran out of the room and up the stairs towards the roof. He kicked the door open and jumped from the ledge, landing on the roof of the building opposite the quarters. He landed heavily and a tile skidded off the roof, dropping to the ground. A guard down below looked up to see the Assassin's silhouette. That was when the guard cried out.

Now he was behind a chimney. As the archers started nocking again, Altair chanced a look. There were too many of them and all were scattered along the wall. He had to move quickly or the guards would flank him and effectively trap him. Altair surveyed his surroundings. He was close to the docks, he could hear the songs of drunken sailors quite clearly. He ran towards the dock and leaped off the roof, landing on the water below with a splash.

Quickly he swam back to shore and hid inside a boat loaded with crates of chickens. He shifted some crates and laid flat on the boat. He put the crates on top of him and remained silent. Guards ran past the boat, raising a commotion. He waited patiently for almost an hour. When the guards receded to their barracks, Altair carefully climbed out of the boat and made his way outside the walls of the fortress. Blending in was no difficulty since the guards were focused on checking those who were entering the fortress, not the ones leaving it.

Once outside, he breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't how Al Mualim had asked Altair to perform this mission.

 _Surely Al Mualim would understand. Who else could have succeeded in the mission but him? Besides, Al Mualim loved Altair like his own son. He had forgiven him for far worse. He would surely be forgiven._

The Rafiq had made snide comments about Altair's lack of preparedness for the mission. He would certainly wipe the grin off the man's face. And with that comforting thought in his mind, he made his way towards the bureau.


End file.
